Traitor
by seizexmyxwings
Summary: Set in Roxas' Organization days, Traitor is a story of number XIII's eventual decision to seek out Sora... and of the one he leaves behind. Pairing: AxelRoxas
1. Chapter 1

"How come you can be sad when someone dies, even if you didn't like them very much to start out with?" The question could scarcely be heard admist the assorted bangs and clangs of destruction emitting from the space behind him.

"He didn't die, and you aren't sad." More shattering sounds.

"Fine. The illusion of death, then, and the illusion of sadness."

"They're just illusions, so why bother worrying about them? Whoops, did it again, didn't I? Stop bothering with the illusion of worrying about the illusions," replied the elder one with a dark chuckle, striking again at a headstone-like object with the dual chakrams he carried almost perpetually.

"You don't really believe that, Axel."

"Nah, I don't. But it sounds angsty, doesn't it?"

"I don't get how you can laugh at a time like this."

No, of course Roxas didn't understand it. He hadn't been with those at Castle Oblivion when Axel had struck down Vexen in cold blood. Supposedly the blonde-haired, "Chilly Academic" had been in the wrong, had betrayed them in such a way that it was no longer forgiveable, but had Roxas been told anything? Not a chance. He, being not only the youngest but the one with the highest number, wasn't privy to such details. Not even from Axel, whom he was closest with in this tiny world of spiritual remnants.

"So why're you destroying his Proof?"

"Well, he doesn't exist anymore, does he? The room's gotta go. Orders from Xemnas."

"That's ironic," retorted the blonde boy with a bitter laugh. So, when those with hearts were eliminated, they had graves erected, but when those without hearts shifted off the mortal coil, their headstones were destroyed. What a fitting joke, considering the room itself was a defiance of their non-existence. An appropriate funeral service.

"Don't go all philosophical on me," Number Eight warned, glancing over his shoulder, past a veritable mess of red spikes that comprised his hair. "We've already got enough wannabes around here, right?"

"That's funny, coming from you." He managed a half-hearted laugh, if that were at all possible for him. He didn't really have half a heart to spare to such endeavours.

"Most things are," Axel replied with a smirk, stepping back to admire his handiwork on what had been the entrance to Vexen's respective room of the castle. Completely desecrated. The once-proud headstone sprawled in pieces about Number Four's emblem – that shield-like device he'd carried around. The blonde one skirked up to the lower-numbered emblems, a place he generally wasn't welcomed, a frown setting further into his features with the closing distance between them. A crimson red liquid was pouring itself from seemingly nowhere into the formerly-blue background of Vexen's emblem, flushing its way into the water-like shade as blood slithers its way outward among cloth. Roxas resisted the overwhelming urge to gag. Had Vexen's blood pooled in this way? Could Nobodies even bleed?

"Is it supposed to do that?" He gestured a bit hesitantly in the direction of the emblem, pointing out what, as usual, Axel didn't see. Or maybe that was the other way around?

The Flurry of Dancing Flames gave only a jovial shrug, followed by another laugh. Roxas was going to get very sick of that chortling very soon. "Guess this room keeps closer tabs on us than we think. Either that, or I overdid it."

"It's a fitting death for a traitor." Roxas stiffened. Xemnas stood at the entrance to Naught, as they called it, directly in front of the two 'lesser' members. Roxas had come to the conclusion very quickly that there were two categories of beings in this Organization: the Supreme-and-never-to-be-argued-with, or the founding six, and the underlings, which comprised Seven through to Thirteen. Pride was not permitted among the ranks of the underlings, and thus he cast his glance very quickly to the ground, gritting his teeth. He'd never much liked not being allowed an ego.

"Didn't put up much of a fight. Sora'd softened him up before I even got there," muttered Axel with the slightest of shrugs, almost disappointed by the lack of challenge. He'd been expecting a little more out of those crusty old geezers who put themselves so high upon pedestals above the 'commoners'. It seemed wisdom didn't always come with age. "But they're not done there. Not by a long shot."

The silver-haired man in front of them seemed to consider this for a moment. How valuable was half the Organization to him? Vexen was among one of the founding members, and yet had very nearly sent their efforts cascading down upon their shoulders. Surely the others wouldn't take the example given them and smarten up, which only gave way to the question: How essential were four more?

"I leave it to you, Axel." When in doubt, leave it for your subordinates to wrestle with. And he was gone. Back to Naught, assumingly.

A short pause. Axel never really did have the patience for silence.

"Hey, you think he ever just giggles his head off? You know, just gets really happy in his work?" questioned the taller of the two remaining offhandedly, cocking his head a little as if this truly were a matter he puzzled about. Perhaps it was. If he couldn't have emotions, he might as well be afforded silly little musings.

Amidst these silly little musings, however, he hadn't heard the gentle clacking of boots against the sterile grey flooring, away from his back. After a few moments of waiting for a response, he spun around, offended.

"Hey, where are you going?"

The blonde-haired Unknown turned to face the other from in front of his own headstone, The Key of Destiny, blue eyes reflecting the wavering blue glow that wrung itself to and fro beneath his feet, and shook his head.

"A fitting death for a traitor, he says."


	2. Chapter 2

There was a certain mentality that went with this form of life... or not-life. Whatever it happened to be. And whatever-it-happened-to-be might just have been getting him down as of the moment. Besides all the backstabbing and double agents and general unrest amidst the ranks of the Wicked (in other words, not the founding six), Roxas no longer knew who he could trust. Or at least who he could place his illusions of trust in.

Then again, he was a Nobody. Why was that even remotely important? He scowled, kicking his feet gently against the ground as he walked. Life was of milling about these days - waiting for something to come along and rouse the world of nothingness, or otherwise sitting idly by and watching as the others were paid their dues. The most recent was Vexen. The assailant? Axel. He came to a halt in front of the large tower that loomed, in all its neon-lit glory, in the deserted square. Memory's Skyscraper. It brought with it a sense of foreboding, knowing that Axel had erased Vexen's existence, whatever that was worth. For Nobodies, it wasn't even an existence to start out with. Ho hum. Just another day at the office.

But what was doubt to someone who couldn't truly feel it? What was a wound to one with no nerves, no blood? Hardly a wound at all, decidedly. And so, why feel even the remotest bit awkward about this predicament Axel had clawed himself into? Why feel bad for the death of something that was never alive to begin with? He could rationalize all he wanted, but the fact remained: something about the situation bothered him. Something in his perceptions of Axel had been irreversibly shaken.

He allowed a sigh to filter through his almost-closed lips, prolonging the seething sound that ensued by breathing out as much as possible, exhausting all of his resources into this one simple task. Perhaps his thoughts would leave him on the back of his breath, like horse and rider: noble steed and lazy, wearied freeloader. If he should only be so lucky.

The seething sigh was interrupted, however, by a frown that made itself evident without warning as Roxas slumped down to sit on the steps, tassles and chains clinking as if to compensate for the absence of the boy's hissing. As thirteen, he was the baby, and apparently that warranted babysitting. Or so testified the shock of crimson he'd snared in the corner of his gaze.

"I know you're there. Red hair doesn't help the cause."

"You think? I don't know. I think it's kinda stealthy. Like those big red streaks they put on the sides of Gummi ships to make them go faster." It was followed by a childish laugh - nearly everything Axel said was followed by a chortle of some sort. It amazed Roxas to think that there were actually those in the universe who knew when to take Number Eight seriously. He hadn't garnered the knack.

The Flurry in question revealed himself at the foot of the stairs, sidling out from an alleyway like a fox from its den. Problem was, this fox wasn't afraid of anything, and was under the impression that those hunting it weren't quick enough to prove a real threat, anyway. Nevertheless, filled to the brim with either illusions of bravado or simple social nothings, the fox sat himself down casually beside what was arguably his quarry. The natural order of things generally didn't apply when 'things' weren't the topic of conversation in the first place. The World That Never Was happened to be ignorant in that way.

"Third time this week I've found you out here," remarked the fox casually, toying idly with the fingers of his gloves. Axel had always been a fidgeter – it drove Roxas up the wall. "Something wrong?"

The blonde rolled his eyes. For one who seemed to know everything he didn't, Axel was a little clueless. His teeth grazed his lower lip, chewing both bitterly and thoughtfully. He _could_ make some cheesy cliché about playing with fire, but so trite was the idea that he dismissed it. Besides, a comment like that was more likely to arouse Number Eight than to discourage him.

"You're not going back, right? To Castle Oblivion, I mean. Whatever's the problem there was dealt with when you got rid of Vexen, right?"

The short chuckle received by Roxas' left ear also proved to be the knell of his hopes. Perfect. Axel was intending upon being Xemnas' messenger forever and always.

"Do you really think Vexen, of all people, is the ringleader? The guy couldn't dominate baby ducks. Or rubber ones, for that matter." Another laugh. Roxas flinched, a side effect of restraining himself from punching Axel in the arm. Everything was so goddamn _funny_ until someone found himself without a head to speak of.

"I can't think anything about it, Axel," he seethed, dragging himself into a stand. "I have no idea what's going on there, and it doesn't look like you're planning on telling me anytime soon." He scowled a little at the hand that had caught his wrist, keeping him from storming off. "Get out of my head!"

Another snicker ensued. Roxas was fully intent on punching the redhead that time, although the hand on his wrist prevented it. Maybe Axel had predicted that, too.

"Get it out of your head that you want to know," hissed the elder of the two, heaving himself into a stand. There was a bit of hesitation in his release of Roxas' wrist, as if he'd debated whether or not it was the right course of action. It probably wasn't.

"Knowing ain't everything it's cracked up to be. Makes everything fall to pieces." He opened his mouth to say something more, but thought better of it, causing the blonde's scowl to set even deeper into his face. He hated being led on, and he hated the smirk that was developing on the face of the harlequin who faced him.

"I think we might just be okay, you know that? Glad to know you're noticing me, Roxas."

And he hated that that was true.


	3. Chapter 3

For a being that wasn't supposed to feel, paranoia bit down upon his nerves just as intensely as upon those of any other Mr. Smith who punched a time card every day and wasn't plotting the takeover of The-Grand-Universe-And-Everything-In-It. That was their goal this month, right? He could never be entirely sure; he didn't pay attention at the meetings or the water cooler conversations, although he might like to have a pool going with Demyx as to the ultimate results of their little ambiguous venture for Kingdom Hearts. The fairy tales pitted the odds against them, so much so that Axel would probably find himself betting for the other team. At least then he'd be a rich - albeit disintegrated - man.

The chuckle that followed the thought reverberated off the hollow walls of the Hall of Empty Melodies and flung itself back at him with a vengeance, striking his ears as something bitter and entirely not his style. His chest heaved upward for the ceiling in a sigh from where he sprawled on his back in the middle of the floor. Great, maybe Roxas was rubbing off on him. Then again, he wouldn't be lounging here and getting in touch with his inner marble floor if that weren't already the case. Another snicker, and this time, no echo. He hadn't been looking at the walls – perhaps they'd removed themselves while he was preoccupied? He was, after all, a firm believer in existence through vision. If something stood plainly in front of him, clearly it existed. If he couldn't see it, it didn't exist.

It was, up until now, the attitude he'd taken with Sora. If he couldn't see Sora, which most of the time he couldn't, there was no need for the kid to exist. He hadn't proved to be a threat in the past, not until Marluxia had decided to intervene with his flighty ideals of overthrowing Xemnas and becoming Supreme Ruler of Everything Ever. Sigh. And that was the rub, wasn't it? Sora might have been thick enough to forget about the Organization entirely if he weren't running in circles through the hallways of Castle Oblivion right now, having his memories tossed in a blender by some blond starving artist with a stick figure fetish. Now Sora knew of them. It was only a matter of time until he and Roxas found out about each other and their somewhat obvious connection and Axel's semblance-of-life was sent off the deep end. He could look into those eyes and see an empty shell of Roxas, completely untainted. Or was Roxas the shell of Sora? Axel had thought he'd known the answer. Now he wasn't so certain.

All of this notwithstanding, none of this would have been too much of a problem for him on a personal level, anyway, if Roxas didn't hold some value to him. When had that happened? Why had Roxas become such an essential complement to his almost-life that he was fretting so much about this? Being the way he was, Axel wouldn't so much have batted an eyelash if any other of the thirteen were about to be consumed by a too-naïve-to-be-believeable brunette. Why did the thought of Roxas disappearing make his chest tighten and ready his hands to claw at whatever he had left?

He sat up, frowning. Perhaps that was it. Roxas _was_ all he had. The heart he didn't feel he owned. Roxas filled that void inside him.

It almost made Marluxia's cause seem worthwhile. Of Mice And Making The Best Of It, as it were.

His revelations, however, were interrupted by a gentle coughing at the opposite end of the great chasm of the room, causing him to flinch a little in surprise. Luxord. So unlike him to say anything to announce himself – he could've been watching for the last five minutes with little remorse. While Zexion pawed around in people's heads, Luxord only ever observed them. Perhaps that was the only difference between a gambler and a scientist. The gambler waits for the hand with confidence, while the scientist is trying to predict his odds or change the outcome.

"I'd say something trite concerning your usual dislike of this room, but we both know that wouldn't yield any sort of appreciable explanation for why you're here," commented Number Ten as almost a passing remark, although Axel scowled. Never mind – maybe Luxord could observe people's thoughts just by looking at them.

"Napping. My snoring makes such an awesome echoing sound that I figured I'd make a chorus out of it."

"Snoring is nasal – it doesn't echo. He's looking for you outside, if you wondered."

Another twinge of annoyance made itself evident in a twitch of Axel's lip. If there was a second-best to Saix on the hatred scale, this guy would claim the title. Luxord played as if he knew more than a few details about his relationship with Roxas, but how much of that was a bluff? Given that the man's expression had seemingly frozen in a poker face years ago, one couldn't really trust a word he said. And Axel's own poker face was more of a window than anything.

"Who?"

"Too slow. You know who I'm talking about."

Where was a bit of kerosene when he needed it?

"Whatever you say. Why're you worried about him finding me, anyway?" Luxord seemed never to need to ask a question. It grated on Axel's nerves like nothing else.

"I'm not. You are."

He always seemed to know the goddamn answers, too.

"… Your point?"

The Gambler of Fate chuckled gently, followed shortly by a snort from Axel and an accompanying pause. The bastard was right. Nasal noises didn't echo.

"You're not thinking hard enough. You're so attached to the almighty cause that you're overlooking the simple solution."

"And what's that, wise guy?" Ugh. Over-eager answer.

"Can you meet what you can't see, Axel?"

Axel sometimes hated that Organization members could make clichéd smoke-and-mirrors exeunts as Luxord just had. He hated even more that the questions Luxord asked were even more aggravating and on-the-button than his answers. And he hated most that he couldn't decipher Luxord's motives behind the implication.

Roxas couldn't meet Sora if Sora didn't exist. Out of sight, out of mind, out of his life. Which was more important, Kingdom Hearts or his Surrogate Heart?

He finally heaved himself into a stand. The answer was too simple.


End file.
